


Midnight Craving

by juandrekshun1



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Battle of the Bands, Bottom Harry, Copy of a Copy of a Copy, Don’t Let Me Go, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Singing, Smut, Top Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 20:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juandrekshun1/pseuds/juandrekshun1
Summary: There aren't two people in the world more different from each other than Harry and Louis. One's kind, quiet, and shy, while the other's sassy, loud, and outgoing. However, they do have one thing in common: they despise each other. After running into each other in the bathroom (literally), Louis doesn't think anything could change the way he feels about that prick. But maybe there's more to that curly lad with the bright smile and green eyes. And maybe the two of them have more in common than they realize.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is gonna be interesting. It’s basically an AU where Louis enters a battle of the bands with Zayn and the gang and he meets Harry there. There are a lot of Larry moment references in this story, like how they meet for the first time. It gives me kind of an Unbelievers vibe, which was not intentional. Basically, Harry and Louis hate each other but then they have sex that one time and fall in love.
> 
> Anygays...
> 
> Just as a disclaimer, the families of the boys are fictional because I kind of make them out to be real dicks. But know that their characters are not based on the real people. I _love_ all of them so much :)
> 
> Okay, I’m done. Have fun. Or not. I don’t know, I’m not your mother. I can’t tell you what to do.

I don't know how it happened. One second I was a normal kid from Doncaster with a weird fringe for a hairstyle and a wardrobe made entirely from chinos and cardigans and the next, I'm one of the most celebrated singers in the whole fucking world. Everyone knows my name.

I used to think that if I ever did get famous one day, I wouldn't regret it. I didn't think there was any way that I couldn't _not_ love being on top of the world. But now that I'm here, I realize that I do, in fact, regret a lot. And number one on that list so happens to be 'betraying the one I love most.'

You're probably thinking, "Louis, why would you betray the one you love most?"

Well, it just so happens that I'm a fantastic storyteller. So buckle up, because the story of how I broke his heart is a sad one. There is no happy ending. There is no riding off into the sunset together on the back of a white stallion.

No. There's only tears, heartbreak, and pain. And _this_ is that story.

It was a pretty normal day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I was contemplating my place in the world. Like I said. Normal.

Zayn came sprinting into my room, a piece of paper in his tattooed hands. I nearly fell off my bed at the sight of him hanging upside down— Oh, wait. No, _I_ was hanging upside down. My back was bent over my bed, my arms splayed out on the floor. My face was probably red from all the blood rushing to my head, but I really didn't care. I wanted to feel something, even if it was all pain.

"Louis," he said, crouching down in front of me and shoving the piece of paper in my face. "Look."

My eyes scanned over the flyer, my face staying blank as I read. Something about a battle of the bands. Winner gets fifty-thousand pounds. Boring.

“And?" I asked.

“C'mon, this is our chance!" Zayn announced giddily. "We can get all the boys together! Form a band!"

“Z, I really don't care about that shit," I groaned as I sat up, nearly passing out from the feeling of the blood shifting around inside of me again.

“But... But it's money," he pointed out.

“I don't care about money," I snapped, leaning over and clasping my left foot as I stretched out my back.

“You need it, Louis," he said. "Look at this place you're living in. It's a hellhole."

“Yes, but it's _my_ hellhole," I growled in defense. I knew he was right. My apartment was a mess. The paint was peeling off the walls, the ceiling was slowly caving in, and my clothes were strewn all over the floor. That last one wasn't even my fault. The walls were so fucked up that I couldn't even push a wardrobe against them. And the place was so small that I didn't have the option of putting one in the middle of the floor. 

Hence the pile of sweaters in the corner.

"C'mon, Lou, this'll give you a chance to showcase your talents," Zayn tried, sounding only a little bit desperate.

"I'm a dancer, Z," I said in a drawl, easily doing the splits on my bed. "Not a singer."

"I've heard you in the shower!" he shouted. "You're amazing, Louis! And the songs you wrote are incred—"

I froze, my eyes wide. Scrambling off the bed, I asked, "You found my notebook?"

He stopped mid-sentence, cheeks becoming red with embarrassment. "Well, it was open on your kitchen table. I only read a few."

"Which ones?" I asked.

"Louis, it doesn't matter—"

_"Which ones?"_ I repeated, stern this time.

He looked down at his feet. "'Walls,' 'Only the Brave,' and 'Two of Us.'"

I was full aware of the fact that my face was no doubt redder than the burgundy of my bedsheets. "You're kidding."

"They're so good, Louis!" he said, obviously trying to change the subject. "This is the perfect opportunity to show the world how amazing you are. We could play your songs. Ashton could play drums, Calum's got the bass, Niall on guitar—we'll win for sure!"

I bit my lip, fiddling nervously with the cuff of my sweater. He was right and I knew he was right. He was always right. But I didn't want to admit that. That would just be embarrassing for me. I also knew that Ashton, Calum, and Niall would say yes without a second thought. They'd been wanting to form a band ever since they first met that day in first period in secondary school. So it was four against one.

Not great odds.

I sighed softly. "Can I think about it?"

A grin lit up his face like a bonfire. "Yes, you can definitely think about it. Text me when you have an answer, 'kay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

So I thought about it. I thought _a lot_ about it. I laid awake at night, staring up at the ceiling and going through everything that could go wrong and everything that could go right. I didn't think Zayn really knew my reason for hesitation. I didn't think _anyone_ did. But I guess there was no harm in telling you.

Music was my way of expressing my feelings. Ever since my mom and Fizzy passed away, I was practically numb. I closed everything off to the point where I couldn't feel anything. Not even pain.

So I'd sing. In the shower, of course. I could never muster the courage to sing in front of an audience.

But I'd sing despite my painfully intense stage fright. Words would flow out of me as easily as air did, songs practically writing themselves. I would put my pencil to the paper and blink and I'd have a whole chorus written down. I couldn't say things out loud. I was the oldest in my family, so I'd gradually learned to be the strongest for everyone else. Not even my closest friends knew how desperate I was inside to feel the slightest hint of any kind of emotion.

So I'd sing. And I'd write. And I'd scream internally, pounding on the walls of my mind. The only thing worse than being trapped in the closet is being trapped in your own head.

And I knew how both felt.


	2. Chapter 2

That next morning, I woke up to the sound of voices. This would be normal if I had a roommate.

I didn't.

Confused and still exhausted from the little sleep I got, I rolled out of bed in nothing by my plaid-patterned pants that hung loose on my hips. My hair was a mess and my mouth was dry. Boy, did I need coffee.

I grumbled down the hallway like a zombie, opening up into the kitchen to find Zayn, Niall, Ashton, and Calum standing there. With a smile on his face, Niall went to greet me. But I put up a hand to silence him and stalked over to the coffee pot. I took my time in making the drink, yawning every now and then to lengthen the process. I had to wait for it to brew too, which was quite a long time for Niall to stay silent. And finally, ten minutes later, I took that refreshing first sip.

“What are you four doing here?" I mumbled before pressing my mug to my lips again.

“You gave me an answer," Zayn said. "Remember?"

“You know I never do," I sighed.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled a bit, placing it in front of my face. On the screen was a text conversation between him and me, my last words being 'I'm in.'

“Oh, right," I mused as the memories of last night came flooding back. Oh, you know. The memories of me getting drunk off my ass, casually dancing the Nutcracker, and then texting Zayn my answer.

Those memories.

“Why'd you have to come so early in the morning though?" I whined, yawning halfway through my sentence. "I was asleep."

“Louis, it's noon," Ashton pointed out.

“And what about it?" I asked, shooting him what I hoped was a menacing glare.

“I've already signed us up," Calum put in casually. "Ash on drums, me on bass, Niall on guitar, Zayn on keyboard, and Louis on vocals. The perfect band."

“We leave for London in thirty minutes," Niall said.

My eyes widened in surprise and I almost spit out my coffee. _"THIRTY MINUTES?!"_

All four of them nodded simultaneously.

And just like that, I was awake.

I put my drink down and started scrambling around the apartment, muttering to myself about how there's no way I was going to make it in time. I grabbed bundles of shirts and pants and pairs of underwear in my arms, hurrying down the short hall and into my bedroom, where I threw it all onto the bed. I pulled a dusty suitcase from the closet and started frantically shoving things into it, internally panicking. I froze when I heard the four of them snickering softly.

I groaned. "You were messing with me, weren't you?"

“Our flight isn't until tomorrow," Zayn said.

I picked up a pair of my boxers and threw them directly at Niall's face, which only succeeded in making him laugh harder. He had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright. Despite the fact that I wanted to laugh with him, I just couldn't.

***

The airport was small and crowded. I was claustrophobic. I think you can put two-and-two together on your own.

The flight was worse. I'd never been flying before. I hated it so much. How come no one mentions the fact that flying is basically sitting in a tin box thirty-thousand feet in the air? HOW THE FUCK DOES IT STAY UP THERE?

But I survived. Somehow.

The London airport was so much nicer. It was huge, for one, so I wasn't constantly bumping into strangers. The five of us stopped at cafes and bookshops, our curious minds getting the better of us. We roamed around for much longer than I'd like to admit before we actually started the journey to where we were going to be staying.

Apparently, all the contenders would be staying in one large, warehouse-like building with four floors and seven rehearsal rooms and another twenty storage closets. We'd gotten there early—which was embarrassing as hell—so we got to pick what floor we would be staying on. Yeah, that's right. The first ones to show got a whole floor to themselves.

Assholes.

The other four were arguing over who should get the biggest bedroom so, of course, I slipped away from them and claimed it as my own while they were distracted. I shut and locked the door so they wouldn't come in to complain, also needing the peace and quiet.

The second there was silence, I collapsed backwards on the fluffy pillows, sighing deeply. Today was Day One of a three-month-long competition. It was only three months. What could go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

A lot. A lot could go wrong. Number one being that I'd managed to leave my song-writing notebook at home.

Goddammit.

Within three hours of stepping foot into the building, I'd tore apart my suitcase and left my clothes all over the floor. I prayed silently to whatever gods were up there that there wasn't some sort of room inspection, otherwise I'd be sacked at the drop of a hat.

Luckily, Niall and his stupidity came forward. Well, not really. It was only when I stormed into his room and threatened to smash his guitar that he told me he'd taken it for me.

God, he loved that stupid fucking guitar.

This calmed my nerves slightly, but I was still anxious as hell for positively no reason at all. I mean, maybe there were a _few_ reasons. Like the fact that this would be the first time performing in front of someone other than the rubber ducks Niall always snuck into my shower. Or the fact that I wouldn't know any of the people I was supposed to be competing against. Or the fact that I hadn't had sex in five weeks and was in the mood for a good fuck—

Wait, what?

I shoved my thoughts away and rolled out of the bed, which was more of just a bed frame without a mattress. It was so uncomfortable. They really expected me to stay here for three months?

And suddenly, my worst fears became clear: I had to take a piss and I had no fucking idea where the toilets were.

Right. Another reason to add to the list of things why I hated myself for agreeing to this.

Cringing internally, I forced myself out of the room and started down the hallway, hoping to the skies that I could do this without having to ask anybody. Unfortunately, I did. And it was so goddamn embarrassing.

I hurried up to a guy with curly blonde hair and a loose-fitting shirt, pointedly not looking down at his exposed chest. "Hey, mate. Mind telling me where the toilets are?"

He frowned slightly before nodding to the left. I turned to see what he meant, my cheeks burning red. Because right there was a sign that said 'Bathrooms This Way' with an arrow pointing further down the corridor.

I turned back to him. "Uh, thanks, I guess?"

He just shrugged and started up the staircase behind him.

Of _course_ they were right there. The universe absolutely despised me, so it usually worked like that. I'd mostly gotten used to how often I embarrassed myself, but that didn't mean I didn't feel it. You know, the way heat sparks through your whole body and your heart starts pumping at a million miles an our. And it's not a good feeling of heat, either. It's gross and clammy and it makes you sweat.

I hated it.

Pushing my way into the toilets, I found them empty.

Or so I thought.

I headed over to the urinals, managing to run right into some bloke. We both yelped loudly and I felt a faint wetness on my right shoe.

I jumped back, trying _so fucking hard_ not to look down as the man stuffed himself back into his pants. Both of us were blushing furiously, probably him more so. But as I studied him, I felt a wave of heat was over me. And this time, it was the _good_ kind.

He was tall—taller than me. His patterned, silk shirt was loose and mostly unbuttoned, revealing a chiseled and tattooed chest. My mouth went dry at the sight of his strong facial features and pale green eyes. To say he was pretty would be a gigantic understatement. A navy blue headband pushed back the mop of curls that sat on his head, causing the unruly strands to swirl adorably around his ears.

I saw his mouth start to move and it took me a second to realize he was speaking. "...the fuck, man? Watch where you're going, will you?"

I was taken aback. Why was he so angry? It was an honest mistake.

I was about to retort with something rude and sarcastic, when I realized that my shoe was wet. I glanced down, my jaw dropping slightly in surprise. "You pissed on my shoe!"

I looked up to see the man frowning. "What?"

I pointed down at my shoe, fuming in anger. "You _pissed_ on my _shoe_ , you _jackass_."

His eyes went wide and a blush rose onto his cheeks. "N-No, I didn't."

"Uh, yeah, you did." I mumbled something harsh under my breath as I walked over to the paper towels. I grabbed my shoe and pulled it off my foot, grabbing a few towels and trying to dry it off. I muttered under my breath as I did this, just like I always did. "Can't believe this. My _favorite fucking_ shoes! Such a bitch."

"Do you need help?" he asked.

I glanced in the mirror, seeing him start to approach me in the reflection. My face hardened in annoyance and I turned my back to him. "No, I don't need your help."

"I'm sorry, okay?" he sighed. "I didn't mean to."

"The hell you didn't," I grumbled.

"Please, I'm serious," he tried. "Let me repay you somehow."

"You can repay me by buying me some new fucking shoes," I snapped. I kicked off my other one and threw them both to the floor at his feet, stomping towards the door.

"Well, you can't just walk out of here barefoot," he scoffed.

"I'm _not_ barefoot," I growled. "I have socks on. And you can't tell me what to do. I don't know you." I pushed through the doorway, not bothering to look back. Not ever for a second.

***

"I just met _the_ worst guy!" None of the boys looked up at me as I barged into their room, their eyes locked on the telly. "He peed on my shoe! Can you believe that? On my shoe! Now I have to buy new ones! That stupid fucking jackass. I'm gonna kill him."

"Was he hot?" Zayn asks through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Yes, he was _so_ hot and I wouldn't _dare_ say no to fucking him, but he _peed_ on my _shoe_." My voice came out in practically a hiss as I opened one of the cabinets and started sifting through the bags of chips the organizers had supplied for us. Apparently, these guys were obsessed with salt and vinegar.

"You mentioned that part already," Niall cut in before turning back to the movie.

Ashton glanced down at my feet from his spot at the small table in the corner. "Where are your shoes?"

I pursed my lips before answering. "I threw them at him."

"Ha!"

We all turned to look at Calum, who blushed furiously. "It was a... a funny scene."

I contemplated mentioning the fact that they were watching a nature documentary but decided it'd be best to keep my mouth shut. The last thing I needed was us fighting before the competition even started.


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn't sleep. My head hurt, the bed was uncomfortable, and my anxieties were taking over at a rapid rate. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep in that room. I needed to get out of it.

So I rolled out of the bed, making sure to keep my movements quiet so no one would hear me. I grabbed my wallet, a fresh pair of clothes, my notebook, and my phone. I stuffed all into a bag, which I threw over my shoulder. With a deep breath, I pushed open the door of the room I was staying in and started down the hallway.

To be honest, I had absolutely no idea where I was going. I knew the general direction that the exit was in, but no idea how to get there. So basically, I was navigating a dark corridor at two in the morning without a slightest clue of even where the stairs were. Were they left or right? Was there more than one staircase? Could I end up just falling down it and wake up everyone in the building?

There were a lot of variables and not nearly enough time to figure any of them out.

I basically went with my instincts. It took me about ten minutes to find the stairs that led down, but I found them nonetheless. I hurried down them, stopping halfway when I realized that I'd forgotten my headphones.

Shit.

 _Should I go get them?_ I asked myself.

 _Nah,_ another part of me answered. _It's not worth it. You need sleep. Just get out of here._

I decided to listen to the second voice and kept going. By the time I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I was already out of breath. Man, I needed to get back in shape.

The bottom floor was dark, which made this feel only _slightly_ like a horror movie. However, I shoved away my fear of the dark (which I'd had since I was five, get over it) and somehow managed to find the front door. It took a while, seeing as I was basically blind, but the doors were glass and exposed the road outside, which was shining silver from the streetlights. I threw open the doors and stumbled outside.

There was a chill in the air. A light sprinkle of rain fell around me. The moon was full and sat high in the sky, surrounded by twinkling stars. I looked up at them, breathing deeply. I'd always loved the stars. They were so beautiful. They also gave me romance novel vibes, which I—and I will never admit this to anyone—read in my free time.

Remembering what I was doing out there, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and searched up some motels near by. There was a cheap one only a block away, so I headed in that direction.

As I walked, my mind automatically trailed to the boy from the bathroom. I had no idea why. I didn't like him. He peed on my shoe, for fuck's sake! But... he was intriguing. Not to mention the fact that he was also gorgeous. Those curls and those eyes and that jawline—ugh, if only we'd met under different circumstances I would totally have been fucking him right then.

The motel was easy to find, seeing as it was the only one for miles. A bright neon sign also pointed right at it, so there wasn't really any way I could miss it. I trudged up to the front desk, finding it occupied by a half-asleep man with a porno magazine laying on his chest.

I huffed in annoyance and slammed my hand down on the bell that sat on the counter. The man jumped at this, the magazine falling to the floor. He looked like such a perv. I couldn't wait to get out of here.

"Can I help you?" he grumbled, brown eyes angry.

"I need a room," I replied.

"For how long?" he asked.

"A week." That was long enough, right? I would be fine in the actual bedroom I was supposed to be staying in by then, right?

He sighed. "Alright." He opened one of the drawers and placed a key on the counter. "A week'll cost ya a hundred pounds."

I swore internally at this and pulled out my wallet, sifting through the loose bills I had to make sure I had enough. I did, but if I gave it all to him, I'd need to use my credit card. I hated using my credit card. I promised myself I'd only use it in emergency situations, so using it for this made me feel broke.

Which I was. That was the whole point of doing this battle of the bands thingy.

With a sigh, I gave him the money and swiped the key off the desk, heading to the room I'd gotten.

***

I flopped down on the mattress with a groan, finding it surprisingly comfortable. The thing was, I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. I knew that much. So what could I do?

Writing. Writing was always the answer.

I leaned over the bed and grabbed my notebook and the pencil I always kept tucked into it. Sitting back against the headboard, I flipped it open.

There were quite a lot of songs, but there was only one I thought was worth working on. It was one I had yet to finish, but I knew it'd be worth it in the end. I was hoping it would be my best one yet.

My eyes scanned over the lines I'd already written, which was just the first verse. It was kind of intense, which is exactly why I loved it. The words were from the heart. They were basically everything I wished somebody had said to me when I was figuring everything out. 'Everything' as in when I went through that whole sexuality crisis and then when Fizzy and my mum died and then when I was forced out of my own home just for who I was.

I blamed it all on that snob of a stepfather of mine. He hated me ever since he walked into that house on my mother's arm. God, she could've done so much better.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it and instead write. Except I had no fucking idea what to write.

Groaning in frustration, I threw the book off the bed and leaned my head against the wall. What could I do? I had nothing to write about. I couldn't fall asleep.

I mean, there was always getting off.

With a soft sigh, I quickly unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down to my knees along with my boxers. I grabbed myself and started to stroke.

The question was, what could I get off _to_?

 _The guy from the bathroom,_ I thought.

I scoffed. _No way. Absolutely not. I don't know him._

 _Yeah, but he'll make you come,_ I pointed out to myself.

So I sighed and shut my eyes, imagining that guy from the bathroom. I barely knew him, but I _had_ gotten a pretty good look at him. And although I had the common decency not to look down at his cock when he was putting it back into his pants, I knew he was big. He's _got_ to be big.

I frowned slightly. Oh, this was working.

I could practically feel his hands on me. Those nimble, inked, gorgeous hands that were decorated with layers of rings. Hell yeah, he was sexy. He was _so_ sexy. And I wasn't saying that I had a hand kink but...

I had a hand kink.

Especially when it came to _his_ hands. God, they were beautiful. Fuck, I didn't even know this guy's name and I was already getting off to him. Classic fucking Louis.

I bit my lip when I felt heat pool in my stomach, slowing down the pace of my hand. Not yet. I wanted it to last.

And there was his voice, too. Oh, that voice. It was kind of a slow, deep drawl that sent a chill down my spine. If only I could hear him moan my name in that voice—

"Fuck," I gasped out, grabbing the pillow beside me and placing it over my face to muffle my moans. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I was going to come. The stupid jackass from the bathroom was going to make me come and he wasn't even here.

Fuck.

I came hard and with a loud groan, which surely would've woken up the whole motel were it not for the pillow. When I spasmed out of pleasure, my hand clutched the pillow hard enough to turn my knuckles white. My back arched wildly off the bed and my toes curled into the mattress.

Breathing hard, I tore the pillow away from my face, kind of accidentally pushing it off the bed. My chest was heaving swiftly with every breath and there was a light film of sweat covering my forehead. My arm hurt from the strain and I hadn't even really come down from that post-orgasmic high.

So... I just got off to a guy whose name I didn't even know.

Oh, no.


	5. Chapter 5

My alarm went off at six thirty. I had set it for that so I would have enough time to change and grab all my stuff and make it back to the others before they woke up. And despite how tired I was from having gotten only about two hours of sleep, I rolled out of the motel bed and swapped out my clothes for the ones I'd brought.

In less than five minutes, I was out the door. I made sure that I still had the key to the room, otherwise that would be an awkward conversation with the guy at the front desk that I was _not_ ready to have.

So with my key and my bag, I headed down the street. Seeing as it was still pretty early in the morning, there was only the occasional car driving down the road. There was a soft fog in the air, but there was also a breeze that made me shiver. I should've brought a coat. Three months in London at the end of summer was going to be positively brutal.

I pushed through the cold, shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt. At least I had that. Maybe then I wouldn't freeze to death.

The warehouse came into view and I let out a relieved sigh, my breath coming out in a cloud of condensation. I rolled my eyes at this (for some reason) and headed for the large building. I hadn't exactly gotten the best look at it yesterday when we'd shown up. It really was huge.

I pushed through the doors and hurried up the stairs, surprised to see that the hallways were silent. Did everyone just sleep in nowadays? Or were they already awake, off at some orientation? Oh, God, did I miss something? Was it gonna be one of those situations where I walked into the room and everyone would look at me? Would the director stop what he was saying and tell me to sit—

And that's the story of how I rammed right into a wall.

Well, I thought it was a wall. But when I looked up, I met hard green eyes that were accompanied by a fierce scowl.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to watch where you're fucking going?" he spat.

When I realized that he was still holding me in his arms, I put on my own angry expression and placed my hands on his chest, pushing him away. I hadn't meant for it to be a rough push, but neither of us really seemed to care. "You could've easily avoided me."

"Oh, I'm sorry for wanting to save you from a broken nose when you inevitably ran into that door," he growled, vaguely gesturing to the room I was heading for.

"I was being careful," I snapped. "I wasn't going to hit it."

He seemed to realize that I was coming up instead of going down, for a frown crossed his face. "Where were you?"

I grasped desperately for an excuse. "I-I went for an early breakfast."

"I don't see anything," he said, nodding to my empty hands.

"I ate there," I tried.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, smirking to himself. "Nothing opens until seven."

Fuck.

"Whatever!" I said. "I don't have to explain myself to _you_." I shoved past him, placing a hand on the door knob. I went to turn it, only to find it locked. I rattled it vigorously and turned to glare at the man whose name I _still_ didn't know, who was trying really hard to stifle his laugh. "Don't say a fucking word."

He put his hands up in defense, but had to purse his lips to keep from giggling.

I turned to the door across from mine, taking a deep breath before knocking on it. "Z? Are you awake?" When I didn't get an answer, I knocked again, harder this time. "Zayn, get your ass out of bed and let me in."

The idiot from the bathroom leaned against the wall, crossing his arms again. He examined my struggle with amusement in his green gaze.

When I remembered what happened the night before, I looked down at my feet to hide the heavy blush that rose to my cheeks. He could never know. It would be so fucking embarrassing.

Suddenly, the door flew open and I nearly fell backwards. I looked up to see an angry, still half-asleep Zayn. He wasn't wearing a shirt and although I didn't really mean to, I may or may not have stared a second too long at his tattooed torso.

"What the fuck, Louis?" he hissed. "It's not even seven yet! I was having the best bloody dream about that one drummer guy that I met yesterday and you _ruined it_ with your own stupidity!"

"I locked myself out of my room!" I admitted. "I'm sorry!"

"Just get your gorgeous arse in here," he grumbled, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into the room behind him. I glanced back at the bathroom guy, who gave me a small wave before Zayn shut the door in my face. I huffed in annoyance when he let me go, causing me to stumble violently.

"Alright, spill," he snapped. "Who was Hot Stuff out in the corridor just now?" He grabbed an apple from the counter and took a large bite out of it.

I put my bag down, sitting down on the edge of Zayn's bed. With a sigh, I flopped backwards onto it, splaying my arms out so my body was spread in a 'T.' "It was the guy that peed on my shoe yesterday."

He barked out a loud laugh, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth. I scoffed at this, which only succeeded in making him laugh harder. "Wait. So you're telling me that the man that peed on your shoe and the sexy bloke just outside the door are the same person?"

I rubbed at my eyes with the backs of my hands and groaned. "Yeah. And it's a problem."

"Why is it a problem?" he asked.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I asked.

"'Course," he replied.

"I got off thinking about him last night," I blurted out.

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds, blinking in confusion. When he finally put his apple down, he stepped over to me and sat beside me on his bed. He laid down as well, both of us staring at the ceiling.

"Was he good?" he asked. "In your mind?"

"Yeah," I said.

"How hard did you come?" he questioned.

"Hard," I whispered. I turned to look at him to find him also looking at me.

"Well, the only way to get over it is to fuck him," he advised simply.

"Ah, he doesn't like me." I looked back at the blank white ceiling.

"Angry sex is the best sex," he murmured.

That made me laugh, my chest rumbling with amusement. "Okay, Wise Guy. And how exactly would that conversation start? 'Hey, I think you're really hot and I wanna put my cock in you. How does that sound?'"

He shrugged. "I mean... yeah."

I scoffed. "Please. I'd never say that to him."

"But you said it to me," he pointed out.

"Okay, we were high as fuck," I argued.

" _Or_ maybe you want it to work out this time," he said.

"You and I had sex _once_."

"That's my point. We fucked and gave up. I think that this time, you want it to be more than just a one time thing."

Surprise, surprise! He was right again!

"I don't even know his name."

"Then _ask him_ , you wanker. Don't say no to him just because you can't handle the pressure. Take it slow. Or fast. It depends on what he likes. Do you think he likes it rough or gentle?"

I pursed my lips and hesitated slightly before answering. "Gentle."

"Really? I would've guessed rough. I mean, with those tattoos— oh, he could fuck the shit out of me."

"What about that drummer you were just dreaming about?"

"Oh, yeah, he's good too. He's got tattoos. Lots of them. And his eyes are so pretty."

I chuckled softly. "Do you at least know his name?"

"Liam," Zayn said dreamily. "It suits him so well."

I laughed again. "Sounds like maybe I'm not the only one who needs a good fuck."

"Nope. And unlike you, I'm actually gonna make it happen."

I shoved him slightly, but due to his small frame, I managed to push him right off the bed. Panicking, I sat up and looked down at him, only to find him laughing his arse off. I couldn't help but crack a smile as well, the both of us giggling at his splayed out figure on the ground.

Good ole Zayn. He's what I'd call a best friend.


	6. Chapter 6

That next morning was what I believe can be qualified as the introduction to this whole shebang. We were dragged down to an auditorium by some weird, short guy with a shiny, bald head and buggy eyes. He pounded on our doors, his shout echoing through the hallways.

I could tell right away we weren't going to have the best relationship.

So only half awake, hair a rat's nest, bunny slippers still on, I trudged with the others down the stairs. The actual auditorium was... well, gigantic. The ceiling was layered in step-like sections, each one thicker and lower than the last. The stage was a deep, mahogany hardwood that matched the red seats and curtains perfectly. The other groups were already there and I groaned when Niall pulled us towards a spot that was way to close to Bathroom Guy's group for my liking. However, I forced myself to sit and tried to drink my tea in peace.

Of course, Bathroom Guy would never allow that.

"What you got there, Louis?" he asked, his voice sounding suspiciously close. I realized with a jolt that he was sitting directly behind me.

Fuck.

"Shove off," I mumbled before taking another sip of my drink. Did it bother me that he knew my name but I didn't know his? Yes. Was I extremely tempted to ask him for it? Yes. But would I ever give into the temptation of having a real conversation?

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

"Are those bunny slippers?" he questioned when he saw my feet that were propped up on the empty seat in front of me.

I finally turned around to face him, scanning him in 0.02 seconds for leverage. Except I suddenly became too caught up in his sexiness to speak. Even in sweats he was gorgeous. His hair was pushed back with a stupid pink headband that kind of made him look like an adorable puppy, but at the same time, an absolute sex god. He was wearing a hoodie—but no shirt underneath—and had unzipped practically half of it, revealing his tattooed chest. His muscular legs strained against his plaid-patterned pants, which would look positively idiotic on literally anyone but him. And of course he managed to pull them off with zero effort at all.

That fucker.

He smirked when he caught me staring, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair without a care in the world. (I don't know if he meant to spread his legs like he did, but I'm not complaining.) "Cat got your tongue, Princess?"

I scowled at the nickname and quickly flipped him off before turning back around. I sank down, rather embarrassed by my own failure.

Zayn leaned over, pressing his lips to my ear. "You're getting sloppy, Tomlinson."

"You're getting _obvious_ , Malik." I elbowed him lightly, causing him to let out a snicker in my ear as he settled himself back in his seat. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something snarky, an authoritative voice rose over the small crowd, silencing everyone in an instant.

"Hello, everyone!" the man greeted. "My name is Simon Cowell. I am the organizer of this competition and also the main judge in the contests. Now, don't worry, I'll explain everything in a moment. But to kick it off, I thought we'd start with a simple challenge: give your band a name. You have twenty minutes. Go."

Everyone immediately started chattering, including the boys behind us. Calum, Niall, Zayn, Ash and I just shrugged at each other and stayed silent. We'd already come up with a name for our band on the plane ride to London. It was an interesting conversation, to say the least.

My eyes widened when I heard Bathroom Guy say the words, "Coiled Lanyard with the Vegetable Fannies."

I quickly turned around in my seat, gaping up at him. "Don't tell me you're _actually_ considering that!"

"Oh, do you have something better for us, Princess?" he hissed, his face contorted in anger and frustration.

There was no way I was going to tell him. Every name I'd ever come up with was hidden away on the very back page of my notebook. There were so many that I'd lost count.

 _However_ , maybe doing one nice for this bloke wasn't such a bad idea. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to fuck with him.

I smirked. "Aw, are you all out of ideas?"

"N-No," he said with that same insecurity he had when he tried to convince me he _hadn't_ —in fact—peed on my shoe.

"Then let's hear it," I said.

He scowled at me and I knew I'd won. "If you're so smart, what did _you_ come up with?"

"20 Below Contradiction," I answered simply, the words rolling off my tongue as easily as my own name.

Bathroom Guy sighed in defeat and seemingly forced himself to meet my gaze. "Alright. What do you got for us?"

I thought for a moment, searching for a name. When I found it, all I said was, "What do _I_ get out of it?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" He threw his hands in the air and I saw the way his mates tried to stifle their laughter. To be honest, his struggle _was_ pretty funny. It was hard to take him serious with that headband and those pants. Hearing him grumble in anger just added to the confusion and I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"It was an honest question!" I protested with the smallest of laughs.

"Fine," he groaned. "I'll... buy you new shoes."

"Oh, we're shooting high here, okay. It's a deal." I stuck my hand out for him to shake, which he rolled his eyes at. But when he realized that I was completely serious, he scoffed and shook my hand anyways.

(I wouldn't exactly be lying if I said that the only reason I shook his hand was to see what it felt like clasped in my own.)

"Shoot," he said as he let me go, leaning back in his seat.

"The Fab Hypnotic," I replied, refusing to use the name I'd picked and instead coming up with one off the top of my head. I was going to give him a name but I was still going to drive him crazy.

"No."

"Hairy Trojans and the Squash."

"Gross."

"Of Technic."

"Confused as hell. Hit me again."

I pursed my lips as I thought, blurting out the words as they came to me one by one. "Chomps of Humility."

"No."

"Oh, come on, you've gotta pick at least _one_ ," I snapped. "I'm running out!"

"Keep going," he growled in a voice that may or may not have sent a chill down my spine.

Was it weird that I kind of wanted him to use that voice on me?

I rolled my eyes and did as he said, spouting names left and right, only to get hit down every time. It wasn't until I gave up that he let out a burst of laughter that made me frown.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said through giggles that would've been adorable if I wasn't about to get humiliated. "Just that I've had a name this whole time. I've just been messing with you."

Oh. My. God. This man just pulled a Tommo. He stalled for time by making someone else talk so he could come up with his own answer. But that was _my_ move. It was _named_ after me. You could only pull a Tommo if your name was Louis Tomlinson.

And yet, here I was, staring up at a man—who still had yet to reveal his name to me—that had pulled a Tommo. As far as I knew, he was _not_ a Tomlinson.

At least I hoped not.

He laughed even harder as I was still trying to scrape my jaw off the floor, his face turning red with hysterics. His mates joined in, which in turn made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"W-Well, what do _you_ have then?" I asked, hoping it was something stupid that I could laugh at. But of course, it was genius.

"Trial of the Upsets."

Fuck. Shit. Fuck shit. I'd lost and all that was left to do was accept defeat. I'd lost _my own game_ to an outsider that didn't even know we were playing. Now, that's an all time low.

I mumbled something rather not-so-Tommo-like under my breath and sunk down into my seat, hugging my knees to my chest and turning my back to Bathroom Guy and the rest of his band.

"Everything alright, mate?" Niall questioned.

"We're winning this shit," I growled. "There's no way I'm losing to that _wanker_ again."

"Again?" he asked. "What do you mean 'again?'"

"N-Nothing," I muttered. "It's not important."

Simon stepped back onto the stage a moment later, grabbing the microphone. "I hope you all have had enough time to come up with your names because _this_ is the part where I explain how this is going to work. Over the course of this twelve-week-long competition, each week will have a different category. For example, the first week is '70s.' I'll explain what that means in a minute, but every week, you and your band will spend every waking moment rehearsing whatever song you are given. I will be the one assigning songs every week, so buckle up, ladies and gentlemen. This isn't going to be all fun and games."

My eyelids fluttered slightly and I shook my head to force myself to stay awake.

"Like I said, this week's theme is '70s,'" Simon explained. "You will be given a song that was a huge hit in that decade and will have all week to rehearse. At the end of it, you will perform for everyone in this room. Once the performances are all finished, you will be given a new song for that next week. Understand?"

Everyone nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Best of luck to you all. You will receive your songs at the end of day. Now, head on back to your rooms. This is gonna be a fun three months."


	7. Chapter 7

Elton John. An icon, really. A fucking genius. But the thing was, he was _such_ a genius that you would have to be legally insane to cover one of his songs and expect it to turn out well. Well, Lady GaGa did it, but she was _also_ a genius. So it doesn’t count.

But tell me why our assigned song was an Elton John song. And not _only_ was it an Elton John song, but it was one of his best.

Your Song.

That fucker Simon Cowell was out of his goddamn mind. Yeah, Lady GaGa covered it. And yeah, she killed it. But she’s _Lady GaGa_. She’s good at _everything_. We were just a bunch of rowdy twenty year-olds that needed money and fame. We couldn’t perform _Elton John_.

Idiots.

“He’s mad!” I cried as I collapsed on the rehearsal room couch. “We can’t play this song!”

“Why not?” Ashton asked, playing a small drumroll on his kit, which was shining a bright silver in the studio lights. “It’s a good song.”

“Yeah, stop your whining, Tommo,” Niall said with a small pat on my head. “We’ll be fine. Now, get up. We can’t practice without you.”

I sighed in defeat—even though there wasn’t any argument to be defeated in—and stood up. Everyone was already in their positions: Ash on drums, Zayn on piano, Calum on bass, and Niall on that stupid fucking guitar. I’d insisted on using a cordless mic. The ones that had them were just so annoying. They always got in my way.

“Step right up, Tomlinson,” Calum said. “Or you could just take a video. That way, we can watch you’re stubbornness in real time.”

I glared at him and rounded over to the mic stand, grabbing said microphone in a hand. Glancing at Zayn, I gave him the smallest of nods. And just as he was about to start playing, a soft voice floated through the walls, accompanied by light guitar and drums.

“You can dance/You can jive/Having the time of your life/Ooooh, see that girl/Watch that scene/Digging the dancing queen.”

I groaned out of frustration and stomped over to the doorway. “Be right back.” I threw it open and crossed the hallway, pounding on the door. That prick. I was going to give him a piece of my mind.

The music stopped suddenly and I waited rather impatiently outside the room, crossing my arms over my chest and huffing. I jumped only slightly when the door was abruptly thrown open, revealing...

FUCKING BATHROOM GUY?!

“What do you want?” he growled.

I scowled at him. “You’re music’s too loud.”

“We’re playing ABBA,” he pointed out. “This is as soft as it goes.”

“Then don’t fucking play!” I snapped.

He barked out a humorless laugh. “Now you’ve simply gone mad.”

I sighed and put two fingers on each of my temples, rubbing slowly.

He scoffed. “What are you doing?”

“You give me a fucking headache,” I snarled. “This helps it stop.” I put my hands down and looked right into his eyes, using it as a slight excuse to get lost in those green orbs. “My band can’t _concentrate_ when you’re _screaming_ like that.”

“Then put in earplugs,” he snapped.

“It doesn’t work that way,” I said. “We need to hear each other.”

He sighed in exasperation and leaned against the doorway, his biceps bulging against his tight shirt as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “What are you proposing, then?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, running a hand through my already incredibly messy hair. “I just can’t _deal_ with you.”

“That’s not an excuse to barge in here and try to convince we to just stop playing,” he muttered.

“Well, I—”

“Louis!”

Bathroom Guy and I both turned to my rehearsal room, finding Niall standing in the doorway.

“What, Niall?” I hissed.

He glanced nervously up at Bathroom Guy and then back at me. “Uh, can I borrow a guitar pick? I lost mine.”

I frowned. “You play night and day and you only have _one_?”

He shrugged. “Only _need_ one.”

“Well, I don’t have any,” I said. “I don’t even play. You know that, you wanker.”

“I have a few.”

My jaw dropped at Bathroom Guy’s words. He was offering Niall a _pick_? A guy he didn’t even know?

Dick.

“Oh, thanks, mate,” Niall said. “That’d be great of you.”

“Cool. I’ll go get one.” He walked back into his rehearsal room, allowing me to get a good look at his band mates. There were four of them, each one seemingly goofier than the last. One was laughing his head off, one was picking slowly at his guitar, a third was making the first laugh, and the last was drumming a rough rhythm on his kit. I may or may not have stared at Bathroom Guy as he bent down to rummage through his guitar case. Craning my neck slightly, I caught a glimpse of the instrument. It seemed to have been painted and... was that a cat on it?

He stood up straight a second later and I quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch me staring. I rubbed my neck awkwardly when he walked back over to Niall and me.

“Here you go.” Bathroom Guy handed Niall the pick. It was black with the letter ‘H’ engraved on it. It looked kind of nice.

“Thanks so much. I’m Niall, by the way. Niall Horan.” He stuck his hand out to Bathroom Guy, who shook it without a thought.

“Harry Styles,” he said.

My jaw dropped at his words and I gaped at him with wide eyes. “What?! You told _Niall_ your name, but not _me_?”

Harry shrugged his broad shoulders and turned to me. “You never asked.”

“Are you _kidding me_?!” I cried. “That’s all it would’ve taken?!”

He nodded. “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh, fuck you, Styles!” I dragged Niall and myself back into our own rehearsal room, slamming the door. I threw him over to his guitar and stepped up to the microphone.

“Everything okay, Lou?” Zayn asked.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Let’s get this over with.” I listened to the soft piano melody, taking a deep breath before I began to sing.

“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside/I’m not one of those who can easily hide/I don’t have much money, but, boy, if I did/I’d buy a big house where we both could live...”


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" Harry cried, throwing pages of music into the air. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong with _me_?!" I asked. " _Me_?! I'm not the one that convinced Simon to switch our songs at the last minute!"

"Oh, shut up!" he shouted, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall. "You know full well I didn't do that! The man's gone crazy!"

"Says the guy two steps away from murdering me!" I spat, placing my hands on his firm chest and trying to push him away. Ugh, curse his gorgeous muscles.

"I'm not going to murder you," he growled. "Now it seems that _you're_ going mad."

I rolled my eyes. "I can't believe I have to deal with you for three months."

"Then why don't I make it easier on you?" he asked.

I frowned. "What do you—" A gasp escaped me when he pressed his lips to my ear, his breath warm on my cheek. My heart was slamming dangerously against my rib cage. I was sure that if he couldn't hear it, then he could feel it.

All he said were two simple words, but I heard them. I heard them just fine.

"Fuck me."

Now, you're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation. Let's back up a second, yeah?

**Five Minutes Earlier...**

I stepped into the rehearsal room, the words of Your Song being about the only thing on my mind. However, when I saw how disappointed and frustrated the others looked, I gently placed my duffel bag on the ground.

"What's going on?" I asked, glancing to Zayn, who had a piece of paper in his hand.

"Just look," he said, handing it to me.

I looked down at it, my eyes gradually widening as I read it. "What?! He's changing our song?!"

"Actually, he's switching it," Ashton corrected. "With the band across the hall. We get Dancing Queen now."

Fuming, I crumpled up the paper and threw it to the ground. "It's already been three days. He expects us to learn a whole new song in _two_? That pillock." Something dawned on me. "Wait, did you say the band across the hall?"

Zayn's eyes went wide. "Louis, no. I know what you're thinking. Don't you _dare_."

Before he could say anything else, I ran across the hall and pounded on the door. It was thrown open, revealing a disgruntled-looking Harry with a mostly open shirt. I pointedly did not look down at his exposed chest.

"You wanker!" I shouted at him.

He frowned. "What?"

"You convinced Simon to change our songs!" I said.

"I did not!" he protested, seemingly just as annoyed as I was.

"Yes, you did!" I pushed past him into his rehearsal room, finding it empty. "God, I can't believe this!"

He slammed the door shut, chest heaving in anger. He grabbed a pile of papers from the nearest stand. "Are you _kidding_ me?!"

So now you're all caught up. Anyways, back to the present.

My breath hitched at his words. I was vaguely aware of the leg he had placed between my own, but was mostly focused on trying to come up with what I should say. That was just it. I didn't know.

"What?" I whispered.

"You heard me," he breathed softly. "I want you to fuck me."

My hands were still on his chest. I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my fingertips. I wanted him. He wanted me.

Cool.

"What about your band?" I asked. "What if they walk in?"

"They went out for a smoke," he replied. "They won't be back for a while."

I scrambled for an excuse. "Mine is just across the hall. What if they hear?"

"We'll just have to be quiet," he said.

"Well, what if—"

"Do you want me, or not?" he questioned, placing his hands on either side of my head. He nudged my ear lightly with his nose as he spoke, his breath stirring my hair in the slightest.

"Yeah, I want you," I blurted out.

"Then stop stalling," he growled, sending a chill down my spine. "It can be fast. I don't care. I just..." He huffed softly. "I need you, Louis."

So that's the story of how I snapped.

I reached and swiftly undid the few buttons of his shirt that were still done up. I heard as his breathing gradually became heavier with every fasten that dropped. Once his shirt was completely open, I placed my hands on his chest and started running them all over him. As I did this, he dropped his head down to my neck and started pressing kisses to my skin. I subconsciously tilted my head to the side, allowing him more access to suck and whatever other shit he wanted to do. Apparently, that included sliding a hand under my shirt. I felt my own muscles ripple under his touch as he trailed his fingers over my stomach.

I kind of wanted to kiss him. I kind of wanted to feel his lips on mine. But I held back. I wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss me.

Taking control, I flipped us both around so _he_ was pinned to the wall. His eyes were dark with lust. God, he was so pretty.

I peppered small kisses along his jaw as my hands made their way to the waistband of his skinny jeans. I undid the button quickly, tugging off both his trousers and pants. Getting the memo, he kicked them the rest of the way off.

With desire taking over, I walked him over to the couch that sat pushed against the left wall. He laid down on it, his shirt still hanging loosely off of his broad shoulders. I was so fucking obsessed with his shoulders. Maybe I just had a kink for them.

Nope. No. I refuse to believe that _Harry Styles_ , of all people, made me kinky. Not possible.

Tearing my gaze away from his arms, I pulled off my clothes in record time, leaning back down so I was hovering over him. I traced the hard muscles of his six-pack. I hadn't realized before that he was so muscular. I mean, I guess I knew deep down that he wasn't as skinny as Zayn, meaning he had to be a bit beefy. But _goddamn_ , he really was gorgeous.

He rolled his eyes. "Stop staring and get on with it already."

I scoffed. "You've gotta prep yourself, you wanker. I may hate you, but I don't wanna hurt you."

He huffed in annoyance and quickly stuck two fingers into his mouth, sucking obscenely before slipping them down to his hole. I swallowed thickly as I watched him push one in, listening to the swift exhale he let out. Keeping my eyes on his movements, I felt myself get harder at every thrust of his fingers until it almost hurt. Based on the way his bottom lip had gone white from how hard he was biting it, I could tell he was holding back his moans.

Jackass.

"Ready?" I asked in exasperation after a few minutes of watching him finger and stretch himself.

"Thought you didn't want to hurt me," he snapped.

"Well, you're taking forever! You literally said that we should be fast!"

At my words, he rolled his eyes and pulled his fingers out. "Just put your cock in me, you wanker."

I climbed up a bit so I was positioned just at his hole, leaning my body weight on a single elbow. I slowly began to push in, feeling Harry grab onto my shoulder. I went slow, letting him adjust at his own pace. God, he was so bloody tight.

He hissed softly in pain when I moved further in, digging his nails into my arm. "Louis."

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?" I asked with a feigned apology.

"It's... bearable," he decided.

"Aw, am I too big for you, baby?" I smirked.

He scoffed. "Shove off. You're small."

I instantly frowned at that. "Give me a break, I'm big!"

Harry immediately barked out a loud laugh, his chest rumbling with amusement. I huffed at this and quickly pushed all the way in, causing his glee to quickly fade.

"F-Fuck you," he stammered as his back arched and his grip tightened on my shoulders. He breathed out the smallest of moans, his chest heaving rapidly.

I smirked at this. "Everything okay down there, Styles?"

"I despise you," he spat, moving his hands down to my biceps. "So fucking much."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I sighed. "Can I fuck you now or are you going to keep being a wimp?"

He glared at me. "Do your worst, Tomlinson."

I grinned. "Whatever you say." So I pulled almost all the way out before quickly slamming right back into him. This caused Harry to exhale sharply out of what I was pretty sure was pleasure, based on the way I felt him clench around me. And I kept going. It was slow but rough, seeing that he kept telling me to go harder. I did as he said mostly because I wanted to come. But there was another reason I listened to him. And I had no idea what it was.

We both refused to show the other the pleasure we were feeling, but every now and then, one or both of us would slip up and let out a low groan. Harry easily gave it away with his faces. God, he had such a gorgeous sex face. I would never tell him that, of course. It would only boost his big ego. Which—surprisingly—might've been smaller than his cock. He had a pretty big cock.

When he let out a rather pleasure-laced breath, I smirked. "Did I get it?"

He nodded swiftly, biting his lip hard enough that I'm pretty sure I saw blood.

I angled my hips to hit that spot almost every time. I wanted him to come, but that didn't mean I was going to make it easy on him. So I hit it every other time or so, causing more and more moans to tumble from his lips. He had really nice lips. They were plump and looked so soft. There was a slight dip in his bottom one and couldn't help but put my thumb there, dragging it down lightly. I could feel Harry's eyes on me, but didn't really care. He could think I was a freak if he wanted to. I was going to fangirl over his lips whether he liked it or not.

"Hmm," he hummed through pursed lips, leaning his head further back into the leather cushions. The leather was cool and soft, but I barely realized. Harry's body heat combined with my own left us in a bubble of warmth. Yes, it was making us sweat, but neither of us cared. I was going to come and that was about all I could focus on.

"Close?" is all I managed, forcing myself to moan. I hung my head and buried it into the crook of his neck as I fucked him hard and deep. God, I was so bloody close.

"Yeah." He closed his eyes and let me keep thrusting into him, now hitting his spot every single time. The force of my body against his was causing him to slide back and forth against the cushions. He tried to bend his knees up every once and a while, but they always ended up just falling back down.

"There's no way I'm coming first," I panted, somehow managing to not fall off the edge.

"I think it's too late to discuss that— oh, fuck!" Harry cried out in pleasure as he came hard and fast, his back arching off the ground. I groaned deeply into his skin as I let go inside of him, breathing hard against him.

We sat like that for what felt like an eternity, the room filled with no sound except that of our heavy breathing. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.

Finally, I pulled out of him and rolled off the couch. I snatched my shirt off the floor, holding it possessively against my chest. "Well, _that_ can never happen again."

"Nope," Harry agreed as he sat up gingerly. "Never again."

I pulled on the rest of my clothes and went to grab his. "It was a one time thing. Just... a moment of weakness."

He snorted. "Speak for yourself. I don't _have_ moments of weakness."

I rolled my eyes and threw his clothes at him, smirking ever so slightly when he winced. "Fuck you, Styles. And don't you _dare_ have a limp. I'll murder you if you give us away."

And just like that, I stormed out of the room and shut the door behind me, the memory of Harry's soft skin burned into the back of my mind.

Fuck, I was so screwed.


	9. Chapter 9

Our performance was in five minutes and I was having a panic attack. I hadn't had a panic attack in five years and here I was, unable to breathe. My ears were ringing, my heart was pounding, and _I couldn't breathe_. Not even a little bit.

I was in the bathroom, leaning hard against a sink, using it to keep myself up. My body was shaking violently and every time I tried to inhale, I just couldn't. Instead, my chest would heave and my lungs would constrict and I'd let out a sound that didn't do so well to calm my anxiety.

_Calm down,_ I thought to myself. _The others can't play if you don't sing. You need to breathe, Louis._

Well, I FUCKING COULDN'T!

_Breathe in, breathe out. Take it slow. Slow, Louis, slow._

I closed my eyes and tried again, breathing deeply. I finally took in some air this time, my chest rising along with it. Following my own advice, I took it slow. I breathed deep and gradual until my heart was beating at a somewhat normal pace. It was still pounding heavily, just at a more measured rate.

The door suddenly flew open, revealing Zayn. "We're on any minute, Lou."

I nodded. "Just... give me a second."

He frowned. "Everything okay?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a second."

He nodded slowly, not seeming super convinced. "Well, hurry up, okay? I don't want to miss our first performance."

"I know, Z," I said. "I'll be quick. I promise."

He left a moment later, shutting the bathroom door. Yes, it was a public bathroom. Yes, anyone could walk in and see me panicking out of my mind. Anyone including Harry.

_No, Louis, stop it. Don't think about him. You fucked once. He's not into you like that._

"Right," I murmured to myself. "Just once. Never again."

Taking a long and deep breath, I stepped out of the bathroom and headed to the auditorium. It looked huge, seeing as the bands were five people each and there were only four of them in the audience, but if you looked around, it really wasn't that big. Small but gorgeous.

Like me.

I ducked my head down as I headed down the stairs and slipped backstage, finding the others arguing quietly. Well, most of the others. Niall was sitting in a corner gorging on a bag of chips.

Typical.

"Ah, finally," Zayn said when he saw me, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "What took you so long?"

"Nothing," I grumbled, fidgeting with my hands.

"Well, we're on, like, right now," he growled. "So let's hope your vocal chords can last us long enough to blow that Simon bitch away."

I rolled my eyes and huffed softly. "I'm sorry, okay? Let's just get out there."

Niall gave me a skeptical look, but grabbed his guitar and lowered it over his shoulders anyways. I shoved my way onto the stage behind the big red curtains, stepping up to the microphone. To be honest, I really didn't care how bad or good this went. The five of us had managed to almost master a song in only two days. That's deserves a fucking gold medal, if you ask me.

I glanced back at the others when some guy announced us over a microphone and the curtains began to move. With a soft and shaky breath, I nodded to them to begin. And just like that, we were faced with an audience of bored people. I met those harsh green eyes for barely a millisecond, but I caught the smugness in them.

He thought he was going to win. Well, we'll see about that.

Dancing Queen was an easy song to memorize, which is why I was able to let the words flow through me. Yes, I liked writing songs a lot more than singing old ones, but damn, the 20th century really shot for the stars. The piano and the drums in the song I was practically belting really tied the whole thing together. I think that's another reason why I was able to get so into it. I shot a smirk Harry's way as I pushed hard, singing my heart out. I'd been through enough lessons to know what not to do, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't go a little beyond my limits.

The others were perfect backup singers. Our voices blended together as one, making even _me_ shiver. Niall, Zayn, and I used to sing in our free time. But back then, we were mostly messing around. However, here, now, in front of actual people, I realized that we should have been doing this for real. We should've gone on the X-Factor, or something. And I don't mean to brag or anything, but we were _incredible_.

Harry was watching me with intrigue, shifting in his seat every so often. I almost faltered at that. He wasn't getting hard while watching me sing, was he? Because that was just another level of creepy. But then again, knowing I made him hard did give me an odd sense of triumph. Maybe after this we could—

_Nope! No! Focus, Louis! It's never gonna happen again!_

_I know, but like maybe it wouldn't hurt to—_

_No!_

_Fine._

I somehow managed to tear my gaze away from his gorgeously chiseled face and messy curls. Somehow.

I realized with a jolt that the song was over and that's why everyone was clapping. I hadn't realized until then how hard my heart was pounding.

Oh, I was going to be sick.

With a small smile, I hurried off the stage as inconspicuously as I could and sprinted to the bathrooms. I threw myself into one of the stalls and got on my knees, retching into the toilet bowl right then and there. Ugh, I'd always hated throwing up. I still do. I hated the way my body would spasm and my throat would rub raw and I would feel so incredibly weak afterwards.

When I was done—after what felt like an eternity—I collapsed back against the stall wall, breathing hard. My chest hurt. My throat hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

As I sat there, trying to summon enough strength to sit up, I heard music flow into the room, followed by a voice. It was a nice voice. _Really_ nice.

"It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside/I'm not one of those who can easily hide/I don't have much money, but, boy, if I did/I'd buy a big house where we both could live..."

I inhaled sharply. That was our old song, meaning that it must be Harry singing. That was _Harry_? The boy I hated—yet fucked two days ago—could sing like an angel? What kind of sick joke was this?

As he continued, I found myself subconsciously harmonizing with him. It was hard not to, honestly. Our voices blended so well, it was like they were made for each other. I could practically predict every note he was going to sing, even when he went off-script and did some fancy riff that made my stomach jump.

Slowly and carefully, I got to my feet and pushed out of the bathroom stall. I stepped out of the room and headed for the stage. When I found it, I stopped just before the beautiful hardwood, giving me a perfect view of Harry and his band. They were nothing like the weirdos goofing off that I saw the other day. They were now composed and organized, playing their parts as if they'd been practicing for years. As much as I hated to admit it, they were really good.

Harry glanced my way, a knowing smirk lighting up his face. I wasn't sure if it was to get under my skin or something, but he began to dance. It wasn't anything ambitious—just a weird circular motion of his arms—but it was good enough for him. I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned against the wall. His smirk widened into a smile of amusement. I bit my lip to hide my own.

What the fuck was happening?

When I noticed that he was still watching me, I did something that was probably stupid. Well, now that I look back on it, it was _definitely_ stupid. Like _really_ stupid.

Curse my teenage hormones.

I pressed my tongue to the inside of one of my cheeks, the gesture for... well, you know. Harry gripped his microphone tightly at this, twisting his wrist ever so slightly. I bit my lip seductively, catching the way his eyes flashed dangerously with lust. He quickly turned away from me, and I knew I'd won.

Once they finally finished, I slipped away and started down the hallway. I moved slowly, giving Harry more than enough time to find me.

And he did.

I suddenly felt strong hands on my shoulders, shoving me into a dark room. I heard the door close, causing me to smirk.

"Glad you got the memo," I whispered.

"You're such a tease," Harry growled.

"Only for you, Elton," I smirked.

I saw the vague outline of him rolling his eyes and suddenly his hands were no longer on my shoulders, but the waistband of my pants. My smug smile instantly disappeared, because shit, this was really happening. Again. It was happening again.

Fuck my life.

In barely any time at all, my trousers and pants were around my ankles and Harry was on his knees. The room wasn't nearly as dark as I first thought it was, allowing me to see Harry more clearly now. He looked so sexy on his knees like that. Goddamit.

I placed a hand in his hair as he went to work, starting with simple licks to my tip. He was undeniably really hot. Especially when he sucked on my head like he did. He didn't once break eye contact and I couldn't stop the moan I let out.

"F-Fuck you," I spat as I tugged lightly on his gorgeous chocolate locks.

He only chuckled at this, sending vibrations through my cock and forcing me to throw my head back against the wall. It hurt, that motion, but I barely realized because Harry was extremely good at his job. He slowly took me inch by inch until I could feel the back of his sinful throat, making me gasp. I fisted a handful of his hair and moaned loudly. As soon as the sound left my lips, I bit down on my fist to muffle the rest of them. The last thing I needed was to be interrupted by someone.

He then took me about halfway and compensated for the other half with his hand as he bobbed his head up and down at a swift pace. When I looked down again, I almost came right then and there. His eyes were glossy, his lips swollen, and there was drool dribbling out of the sides of his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I hate that you're so good at this," I gasped out, stroking his cheek.

He groaned around me, causing me to do the same.

"Har—" I moaned. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

I made good on my promise, spilling right down his throat. He took everything I had to give him with practiced ease, milking me dry.

When I let go of his hair, he took that as permission to stand up and did just that. He pulled my clothes with him, buttoning my jeans back up.

"Th-This doesn't change anything, you know," I stammered as I started to undo the fasten on his torturously tight pants. "I still despise you."

He sighed in annoyance. "Just make me fucking come, you dick."

"Good call." I grabbed his rock hard cock in my hand and turned us around so he was pinned to the wall. I stroked him quickly, getting only _slightly_ impatient. I smirked when he let out a sharp breath of a moan, running my thumb over the head.

"Louis," he gasped out, clutching my shoulders.

"Desperate _really_ isn't a good look on you, Styles," I whispered in his ear. He suddenly thrusted into my hand, which I chuckled at. "Wanna fuck my hand, baby?"

He nodded swiftly, so I gave him the go-ahead. He started to thrust into my closed fist, letting out soft moans every now and then. I moved down to his neck, sucking a harsh bruise into his soft skin.

"I h-h-hate you, too," Harry said. "J-Just for the record."

"Will you shut up already and make yourself come?" I snarled angrily in his ear. "'Cause if you don't, I'll leave you and let you walk down the halfway with a tent as big as Big Ben in your pants. Got it?"

He nodded again and closed his eyes, exhaling swiftly as he continued to rock his hips. And, boy, those fucking hips. They were narrow yet sturdy, accentuated by little identical laurel tattoos on either side. I lifted the hem of his shirt to get a better look at them, watching the way his hard stomach muscles contracted when my fingers brushed against them.

"Just because I hate you, it doesn't mean I can't be honest, right?" I asked softly.

"Right."

"Well, then if I'm being honest, you're really sexy," I admitted. "So fucking sexy. I can't stop thinking about how good you felt around my cock."

"Fuck," Harry moaned. "I can't stop thinking about you either, Louis. God, you felt so good deep inside of me. I fingered myself last night, but it wasn't enough."

"So you want me?" I asked.

"I want you," he confirmed.

"How bad?"

"Bad."

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm coming."

I'd almost forgotten for a second what we were doing. But I instantly remembered when he came right into my hand.

I slowly raised my fingers to my mouth, noting the way he watched my every movement with desire in his beautiful green eyes. His breath caught when I stuck my tongue out, licking up his come. It didn't exactly taste _good_ , but it sure as hell helped wash out the lingering taste of vomit that still sat in my throat.

"We should go back to our rooms," Harry said when I was finished, panting softly.

"We should," I agreed, still entranced by those eyes.

"Want to come by tomorrow night?" he asked, sliding a hand under my shirt and running a light finger over my left nipple. "Maybe... Maybe do more than just a blowjob?"

I nodded swiftly, not trusting my voice to say anything remotely coherent.

"Alright." He quickly pulled his pants back up, heading for the door. But right before he left, he turned to me. "Oh, and, Tomlinson? If you really want to turn me on, always keep your back turned to me. That arse of yours does _wonders_."

I blushed furiously out of both embarrassment and anger when he left. _That fucker can... can..._

Fuck. I didn't even have an insult in my head. God, what was happening to me? I was gonna die and it was all Harry's fault. Because he was going to be the death of me. I didn't know how, but he was going to murder me one of these days.

And I was going to let him because I just knew it was going to be so fucking hot.


End file.
